


Salt

by gisho



Series: Silk Road [3]
Category: GetBackers
Genre: Character Study, Mythological References, filling in gaps in canon, stealth characters, stealth fic structure, tense changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:46:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5319236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gisho/pseuds/gisho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leaving Mugenjou left Toshiki adrift. On the way he encountered other lost travellers, but none of them could guide him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal. Written while listening to Vienna Teng's song 'Drought' on repeat.

**0.**

It was raining; he remembers that most distinctly. It was raining inside, but as soon as he stepped through the door it was cloudy above but dry at street level, and he felt the chill breeze against his skin like a hundred tiny knives. It took him a few moments to realize that the chi was - not missing, not entirely, but lessened, a faint tang in the air that bore as much relation to the familiar glow of power from inside as a fog would to the ocean. 

Well, that was alright. His powers came from within himself. He wouldn't need it. There were many things he would no longer need. 

The sunset was glowing dimly to the west, hidden behind buildings. He wandered aimlessly through the streets, brushing against people - so many people, so violently alive, a stark contrast to the empty air around them. So many lights. 

After a while he passed by a playground, surrounded by warm green bushes. He sat down on a swing set and watched a gaggle of children, none older than seven, playing on the merry-go-round. There was no grown-up in sight. He hadn't smiled like that when he was seven. He hadn't looked at the world so easily, so happily, without a thought of danger. How long ago had that been? 

He couldn't remember. 

One of the children, a little girl in a red dress, came over to him and solemnly asked, "Are you lost, mister?" 

He blinked a few times. "I suppose so," he said. His throat felt dry and scratchy, and getting the words out was a challenge. 

The girl nodded seriously. "You look lost. What are you looking for?" 

" ... I don't know." 

"You need a friend to help you look, then," the girl declared, and handed him a small stuffed dog. 

Toshiki stared at it. It fit easily on his palm, and gazed up at him with tiny plastic eyes. "Thank you," he said automatically, to cover his confusion. The girl giggled. The dog was silent. 

"I have to go home," the girl confided. "G'night." And without taking the dog back, she ran off, yelling to the other children. Without a visible signal or goal they scattered down the street, leaving Toshiki staring after them into the gathering dark and still clutching the dog helplessly. 

After a while, for lack of anything better to do, he got up and wandered off, in a direction he thought was toward the sea. He stuffed the dog in his pocket to keep it safe. 

\--

**1.**

His lips are wet with blood and he does not remember how they became so. Self-consciously he licks them clean, shivering at the salt taste. "I don't understand." 

"It isn't necessary that you understand, only that you believe." 

He nods, and takes another sip. "Of course." 

"You're more powerful than you believe. In the other world, it will no longer be hidden." 

There are too many shadows in the room; he cannot count them all. If he were to try he could be caught here for years, putting a number to something that flows and ebbs like the tide as the candle flickers and sways in the breezes of their breath, except that the candle would die long before he counted that many. Is it really that simple? Of course not; all magic has its price. But he is done with counting. 

"I don't doubt that." 

"Then you will not be wrong." There is a soft silken noise, and Toshiki adjusts the collar of his shirt. It feels wrong; too soft, too well-made. The sort of thing Kazuki might wear. This is not even ritual wear. The ritual will come later. He accepts the card and slips it into his pocket. 

His wineglass is blood-warm in his hands. Is that where the memory comes from? 

He takes a bite of his meat, chewing it carefully. Too much to think on, when he no longer needs to. Something is wrong which he cannot quite identify; there are hissing noises in the dark. Surely not? There are no serpents here, except the one who sits across the table from him, unsmiling, inviting. The meat needs salt, he decides. That was wrong. 

This world is wrong. He doesn't belong here, comfortable though the pain has become. He touches the card and opens his eyes to brilliant light. 

\-- 

**2.**

The newscasters described it as a freak snowstorm, and Tokyo was blanketed in greyish slush. If Sakura had been with him, she would have given him something warm to wear. She wasn't. Toshiki had a little money, although he didn't recall where he had found it. He went to a train station, feeling the cold soaking through his shoes, and stared at the schedules of arrivals and departures for a while before selecting a train bound for Fukuoka. 

It was barely afternoon, and his stomach hurt. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. It had been a few days, he was sure. After a while he slept fitfully, leaning against the window. 

From time to time he would open his eyes and watch the landscape floating past. He was not sure how much he saw and how much he dreamed. The moon was a glowing crescent above the hills, and at one point he though he saw the rabbit twitching its ears in the shadow. Then it pushed off and lept down to the arms of a little girl in the seat next to him, who caught it and scolded it gently. She was dressed in white lace. When he looked again she had vanished. 

After a while he came more fully awake and realized that the seat beside him had been empty all along, although someone had left a book there. Picking it up, he discovered it was a copy of the Christian Bible, bookmarked with scraps of old newspaper. It was in English. Toshiki knew only a few words of English, and he set it down again, feeling vaguely dissatisfied. 

The seat beside him was cold when he put his hand on it. 

He dreamed later of Kazuki as he always did, and in his dream the girl in white lace watched them thoughtfully from across the aisle as he cradled Kazuki in his arms and fed him pomegranate seeds. Kazuki seemed half-asleep, gazing up at him with absent, exhausted adoration. The girl's eyes were keen and calculating. He found himself kissing Kazuki, begging him to wake up, but Kazuki just kept smiling and didn't move. His skin was going cold. The girl was speaking to him, her voice low and stern, but although he knew her words were desperately important he could not hear them properly over the pounding of his own heart. Don't look back, she said, and it was all he could hear. Whatever you do, don't look back. 

Sometime a little after dawn the train pulled through the Kanmon Straights and he watched the reflections of the glittering sunrise. 

When the train arrived in Fukuoka, Toshiki departed on foot, without a destination in mind. He didn't know the city, and he didn't know what he was going to do here. He wondered how he would get back to Tokyo. Then he found himself wondering whether he should bother. 

\-- 

**3.**

She tugs at her skirt as if trying to hide behind it. It doesn't cover half her thighs. Toshiki politely looks away, staring across the park into the busy streets opposite. It had seemed best, all things considered, to meet in a public place. He does not know this girl, but he recognizes her. Her perfume is too thick and her skirt too short and the way she wraps her arms around herself tells him all sort of things, and he knows why Lucifer wanted her. He can smell blood over the exhaust haze. 

"You can stop looking nervous," he tells her. "I don't even like women." She blushes and mumbles something inaudible. "This is business," he says, as reassuringly as he can. There are plenty of children who can use the cards; what Lucifer wants are the broken ones. Those, he said, with something to fight for. 

Rena looks sideways at him. "Something to do with the school? I've seen you around. You work for Tower Arts, don't you?" She fingers her pocket, and Toshiki doesn't have to look down to know that there is where she keeps her deck of cards, and that she keeps them close always, deals them obsessively to herself late at night, when only her dolls are there to see. He nods. "You don't look like their type. How old are you, anyway?" 

He has to think before he answers, "Nineteen," and even then he is not sure of the answer. He lost track of time. There are more winters in his memory than there should be. 

"Then you remember what it's like. That's not too old. What do they want from me? It has to be a secret, or you wouldn't have brought me out here." 

He inhales, tries not to be distracted. She unnerves him, with her little-girl eyes on the face of a grown woman, the body, when he is too used to the opposite. "You knew the cards were magical, didn't you?" 

They look up at the trees, which are flowering madly. Rena smiles. "Of course I did. I'm not so old I don't believe in fairy-tales." He voice had gone sing-song. Toshiki looks over at her, really looks, and he sees nothing at all on her face that he would not expect from a porcelain doll, and he knows they're the same, deep down. He takes the Archangel Remiel from his pocket and deals it onto the bench between them. For a moment their fingers touch, and a breeze picks up the falling petals and swirls them around, leaving them the only ones in the world, surrounded by flowers. A world of eternal spring. 

"I want you to help us create a new world." 

He cannot hear her answer. The breeze is too strong and she is drawing away from him, spinning about with gawky grace and willfully ignorant of the hound lurking in the grass, knowing it will not bite her, not her. 

\-- 

**4.**

It took him a few weeks of wandering, eating from trashbins and picking lost coins from the street for admission to the public baths, to get tired of Fukuoka. There was nothing for him there, either. He went to Kobe because it was the next train to leave. 

He walked back and forth across the Akashi Bridge a few times, admiring it. The smell of the ocean was the strongest he'd ever known it, and there were few enough cars that it was easy to forget the bridge went from somewhere to somewhere, and imagine that it stretched out across the world, and if he just kept walking he would end in China, or going the other way, America. 

Toshiki knew two things about his mother: she was American, and she had not loved him or his father. He did not care to know more. It didn't matter. 

After a while he grew tired of the ocean, and hungry. He wandered along the shore until he came to a tall skeleton of iron, already half-encased in its glass shell. The workers at the top looked like ants. He pressed himself against the fence and watched them as the clouds rolled in from the ocean. 

Sometime the next day the foreman came up to him and asked what he was doing there. Didn't he have anything better to do? 

He shook his head, feeling inexplicably embarrassed. 

The foreman sighed and wiped his forehead, taking a second look at his dirty clothing. "You're not a gaijin, are you." Toshiki shook his head again. "Lost your job? Got evicted? Or ... you're not a runaway kid, are you?" 

"Something like that. Lost my job, that is." He leaned against the fence, glancing around. There were buildings all around, but the buildings were silent and the people were alive. People moving, working, going about their lives. He didn't belong here. 

The foreman sighed. "Look, do you want to help us pound rivets? You look strong. I can pay cash." 

A few days later Toshiki bought new boots. They were big and heavy and steel-toed, and he could feel the weight of them with every step he took. He liked the feeling, even if he sacrificed a bit of grace. 

\-- 

**5.**

From here he cannot see Mugenjou at all, although he thinks he knows where it should be. It's often like that, Lucifer had told him. Mugenjou is visible only when it wishes. 

But the air is clear and the sun so bright it leaves him half-blind, and he sits against the fence and deals himself a full hand. He will not join the games, but he has no objection to fortunetelling. These are the cheap replicas, of course. Still, they suffice. 

Across from him the boy, the Archangel, crouches alertly and looks at his spread. He is silent, oddly; most of the time he will make odd remarks, small and sarcastic, the sharp wit of someone who has felt too much bluntness. Toshiki glances up and meets his eyes for a moment. 

"Get on with it," the boy Gabriel tells him. "It's not like you're going to mess this up." 

"I could." He looks aside; he is weak still, and ashamed. "I'm not as good with this as I should be." 

"Good enough. You're his favourite, you know," the boy adds, and Toshiki looks back but now it is Gabriel's turn to look aside, eyes hidden beneath his bangs. "Lucifer's. He tells us how dedicated you are. How strong." 

Toshiki does not realize for a long second that he has almost dropped the deck, and when he does he grabs at it almost desperately. "I thought you were. He smiles at you. All the time, you know. Even when you're not there, he smiles when someone mentions you." 

The boy shuffles his feet, shakes his head. "Smiles are cheap. Get on with it; you'll do fine." 

The air is suffocatingly hot. He absently wipes the sweat off his forehead and tried to take a deep breath, but he feels as if he's choking and he cannot finish it; he coughs involuntarily. The edges of the cards bite into his palm and he grips them tighter for support. 

Toshiki closes his eyes for a moment before he looks. He has done this before,and he knows exactly what he will see, so well that he no longer bothers to see it with his eyes; it doesn't matter. He's not playing. Whatever he does will not change the outcome. He is no more than a card in Lucifer's hand. 

They are none of them more. 

"See?" asks Gabriel. 

He drops the cards and they fall into the roof, retreating from his vision like stars streaming past backwards. This isn't his world. He should be waiting behind the gates of Hell. 

\-- 

**6.**

Once, Kakei had been injured in battle defending Kazuki - of course he had been defending Kazuki; he would never have allowed himself to be injured otherwise. Kazuki's face had gone white and drawn and he had finished the battle with harsh determination, the kind of attacks that had earned him his title. Toshiki had been terrified enough, even knowing that Kazuki would never hurt him. Not with his threads, at least. 

When it was over Sakura had tended to them, calm and graceful as always. Toshiki had not needed to look to see the expression of desperate relief on Kazuki's face when she said it was alright, Juubei was fine, he'd be on his feet in an hour or two. He had known it would be there; of course it would be there, Kazuki loved Kakei beyond all reason. 

Toshiki had known that, and the knowledge had taken hold of his heart and frozen it silent and brittle. 

He had spent the night standing watch outside their door, and Sakura had given him a sad look before vanishing, as she often did. He had listened as they whispered each other's names, gentle, reassuring, winding into each other until they could not be told apart. He had known that Kazuki had made his choice long ago, and Toshiki would never be worth more than a second glance. He had not permitted himself to cry; it would not have been right, when he had lost nothing, nothing that had ever been his to begin with. 

\-- 

**7.**

When the buildings were finished, early the next spring, the foreman took a bunch of them out for steak dinners. It was Kobe beef, rich and marbled, and Toshiki couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything quite so flavorful. For a while now he had lived on all-you-can-eat ramen and the odd candy bar. It sufficed, but there was no joy in it. 

There was joy here; the other workers were laughing and slapping each other on the backs, and clinking their bottles of beer together. The atmosphere of the whole restaurant was one of revelry. He watched through half-lidded eyes; the beer had left his head buzzing, and the atmosphere was close and oppressive. Too warm; he was sweating and he hadn't even been moving around. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and took another sip. 

Tower cranes. He had looked up at Babylon Tower and seen the strange metal frames outlined against the sky. At evening when the clouds had swirled red their lights had become visible; they weren't far enough to be stars and not close enough to be streetlights, and somehow he had imagined them as the glowing yellow eyes of malevolent creatures, winged creatures perched on the frames and waiting their chance to swoop down and carry someone away. He had wondered what the things were called. Now he knew: they were abandoned tower cranes. He knew how to lift a tower crane to the next story as a tall building grew. He knew how to operate a cutting torch, and how to weld two massive iron beams so they would move in unison even when an earthquake hit. He would never have expected to know more than he needed to fight. 

He still did not like to see lights above him in the evening sky. 

"Hey," the foreman said to him when they wandered outside, later, for a breath of fresh air. "We're got another job lined up. Other side of the city." 

Toshiki made a noncommittal noise and leaned against the side of the restaurant. 

"You want to come along? You do real good work. I might be able to fake some papers, put you on the crew officially." The foreman gave him a friendly smile, and it was disconcerting how easily he had fit in here. Toshiki could see it quite easily. He could say yes, and he'd keep working here, make friends - real friends, not the friendly respect of co-workers who never talked except over lunch - make a career of it. In ten years he'd be a foreman. He'd find a nice little apartment and maybe meet a nice young man, and the memory of Fuuga would fade like a bad dream, and he'd even come to like the lights of tower cranes against the sky. 

But he had already said, "No." He half-smiled and tried to follow it up with some sort of explanation. "No. I'm leaving Kobe." 

The foreman looked a little disappointed. "Where to?" 

"Dunno. North, I think." He shrugged. "Maybe west. Some little town. I'm tired of the city." 

"Well, you find another crew, you can call me and I'll vouch for you." 

"Thanks." 

Three train stations outside of Kobe, he discovered that he had stuck the foreman's number in a magazine he had picked up to keep from staring out the window, and given to a man who left with it at the last station. Secretly he was a little relieved. He settled in for a nap, clutching the stuffed dog, and dreamed of sparkling wheels on dark roads. 

\-- 

**8.**

Sakura had always been kinder to him than he deserved. He had had no notion why. She had smiled at him and welcomed him to Fuuga, and when he scuffled with her brother, as was more or less inevitable, she had stood aside rather than taking her brother's side; afterwards she was ready with comfort for whoever had been more hurt. He had not understood her. But then, Toshiki had never understood women. They were distant and strange and soft, and he had not even had the hard-edged hunger of a normal man to drive him close to them, try to scry out their hidden corners. He had known for a long time he was not a normal man. 

He had been astonished at Sakura's strength the first time they stood together in battle, but the astonishment had faded quickly; of course she had been strong, she was Kazuki's follower and he would not have allowed someone weak to stay so close. She had smiled at him and she had struck down her enemies with that same soft smile. She was protecting the ones she loved; he had realized that soon enough. 

She had been graceful and elegant and she had never hesitated, and she had not minded the sight of blood, although she never drew it. Her methods had, of course, been gentler. Her enemies had fallen for simple lack of air. 

She had worn the very same smile when she invited him to lay with her, and he had almost been embarrassed to refuse. It would have been neat and balanced, and Toshiki had not thought there was much balance left in his life, however steady on his feet he was - had to be - in the dance of battle. But she had nodded as if she had expected nothing else, and touched his cheek. He does love you in his own way, she had said, but Juubei was there first. 

Toshiki had tried to be kind to her, although he barely knew how. But soon enough he had given up the attempt. He was a warrior and kindness was not in his nature. 

Sakura had never tried to make him into anything else, and for that he had been able to gather a few scraps of gratitude. 

\-- 

**9.**

"God, you've got a stick up your ass," the boy says, and leans against the stone wall. "What do you do around here anyway?" 

Toshiki can't quite fathom. He is not accustomed to giving orders. Having subordinates annoys him, and although they call him "Chief" he cannot shake the notion that they resent him, or obey out of whimsy instead of true devotion. It is a relief in a twisted way to be insulted so frankly, and he sits down heavily and tugs at his uncomfortable necktie. "I serve Lucifer," he finally says. "I'm his knight. You're one of the Archangels, aren't you?" 

The boy raises an eyebrow. "How many of us are there?" 

"Two, so far." 

The sun casts red shadows over the pews, and glints off the boy's glasses. Toshiki follows him with his eyes as he wanders up to the altar, gazing dispassionately. Toshiki had not recruited him, and does not know his secret. "What's your name?" he asks abruptly. 

"Weren't you listening? Uriel." 

"No. I mean your real name." 

The boy's smile is quite odd as he pulls a lighter out of his pocket and begins, one by one, to light the candles on the altar. The shadows are already dancing around the corners of the room, although they do not quite touch him yet. "I know what you mean, _Uryuu-san_. To you, I'm Uriel." Toshiki does not know how many candles there are on the altar. He looks up at the dark windows and thinks that this boy is too old for himself. Remiel was too young. It's an odd effect; he supposes both are defences, in their own way. Like his own sullen silence. 

"Lucifer said he was looking for the broken ones," he says to the darkness. 

The boy raises his green glass bottle. Toshiki does not know where he picked it up from. "We trading, then? My sister was a golden girl who could do no wrong, and I got tired of playing second fiddle and became a recluse. I only came out for the sake of the game. You?" The wine leaves blotches around his lips like dribbles of blood. Toshiki touches his collar again, the absurd clothing that traps him in the part assigned to him. In a suit he is invisible during the day, one more anonymous employee. Middle- management. He hates it. He is meant to be a loyal servant and that he must wear this disguise to keep close to Lucifer makes him want to scream. It suits Lucifer better; he glides in the world of ordinary people with smooth charisma, murmurs of polite greetings like incantations. Toshiki keeps close and tries not to think how Lucifer is the only man there worth looking at. 

"The man I loved betrayed me." 

The thick taste of the wine was unexpected. Glints of candlelight danced on the boy's glasses, and Toshiki couldn't see his eyes. After a few seconds he pulled back and wiped at his lips. "Love is overrated," he said. "Important, but overrated." 

Something is wrong. He is sure that that was not supposed to happen. 

Toshiki blinks away the darkness and tries not to wonder why his chest hurts, but the sharp pain is the only thing his mind will focus on, and the shadows of the candles dance across his vision and make the world over into a whirling incomprehensibility. Red wine drops splatter his collar and he knows instinctively there is no way to make them clean again. 

\-- 

**10.**

It was more than a year before he found a place he could rest. He bounced around most of the southwest of Japan, instinctively avoiding anything closer to Tokyo than Kansai, taking jobs a week or a month at a time, trading words in ones and twos. He travelled by slow train and bus and foot and finally, by boat, chasing a rumor of small-town quiet. 

The Oki Islands were clean and broad and welcoming, and Toshiki felt not the least inclination to settle down there. Still, the idea of spending a season or two was appealing. He liked to watch the cattle grazing peacefully on the hillsides, and the fishing boats gliding up to the dock with each day's catch. He found work in a cannery and rented a spare room from a middle-aged woman with three children in college, whom she was terribly proud of and talked about at every opportunity. 

At night he would sit outside and watch the stars. He was overcome with vertigo sometimes at the swirling darkness; in Mugenjou the sky had never been this clear or this overwhelming. Sometimes in the daytime he thought he saw birds circling, far up and away. 

He told himself he'd leave that fall, after the tourists stopped coming. September, maybe. It was hard to tell sometimes who was a tourist and who was moving to the islands to retire. Sometimes he would stop by the town's more popular bar and listen to the conversations there. Sometimes young women would flirt with him, and he would withdraw, not knowing how to respond. One night in late July he was approached by a man instead, a fellow with reddish hair and a cheerful grin. He was tempted for the space of several seconds, before the man laughed and pulled away, and reassuringly said he was kidding. 

It was a good bit after midnight when he stumbled out of the bar and sat down on the grass, followed by the red-haired man and a woman with dark curls and beaded braids. The night was clear. There was a distant smell of salt and it was warm enough that Toshiki was sweating, even dressed as lightly as he was. The man pointed out the constellation Leo in the sky, with broad, unsteady gestures. He made some clever remark about lions, and for the first time he could remember Toshiki found himself laughing. He wasn't sure why. 

The woman patted him on the shoulder. "You sure you're not having a seizure?" 

"I'm fine," he told her, and was amazed to realize that it was true. "I'm fine. Really, utterly, completely fine." He laughed again. "Come on, let's not sit here all night." 

The red-haired man tugged him upright and ran off down the hill. 

They wound up at an entirely different bar where the woman made a surprisingly accomplished attempt at karaoke and and the man whispered dirty jokes at Toshiki until he was laughing so hard he couldn't pick up his beer. The evening was a bit of a blur by then, but somehow they wound up outside, and then on a boat, which he knew was a boat and not a deck because of the way it was rocking back and forth, even though he didn't recall walking up the gangplank. The dark-haired woman, who was probably the most sober of them, was singing again, something that sounded almost familiar. It couldn't be a lullaby, he decided. He hadn't known his mother long enough to remember lullabies, even if she had bothered to sing them. But it had that tone to it, and he found himself slumped against the red-haired man's shoulder, shivering with sudden cold. The man patted his head and pushed him away to lie down flat on the bench. 

Sometime later he woke in an unfamiliar hotel room. The red-haired man was standing at the window, brushing his hair and humming, still in his underwear. He tried to focus on the light through the curtains, and guessed it was noonish. He swallowed uncomfortably. It was supposed to have been his day off, but he'd offered to help his landlady with her garden - 

Suddenly it hit him how silly that was. He had no obligations to her. If he never showed up again, she'd fret a bit and then forget him. He didn't matter. He never mattered to anyone. 

"Where are we?" he said to the ceiling. 

The red-haired man smiled and turned to put his shirt on. "Matsue." The mainland? How had they gotten back? "Don't worry, the police aren't looking for either of us. Well, not for anything we did last night. I ordered up lunch, if you feel well enough." Toshiki realized his mouth was watering. 

When the sun set and he still hadn't even looked for the ferry dock he realized his decision was made. He asked the man, rather sheepishly, if he could borrow a few dollars for a comb and a bus pass. The man cheerfully produced both, with a stage magician's flourish, from his bag, and kissed Toshiki on the cheek. Toshiki grinned back as he walked away. 

\-- 

**11.**

He had not fought the man called the Beastmaster, although he had wished for the opportunity. But it had been Kazuki's by right, and so he and Kakei had stood aside and waited, Kakei with a grim and terrible patience, Toshiki with clenched fists and not patience at all, ready to spring. He's mine, Kazuki had said, and so they had given him to Kazuki. 

The fight had not taken long at all. 

It was a matter of reach, and even then Toshiki had understood that, been able to watch the currents, the ebb and flow, and he had understood how these things worked. He could attack at a distance himself but he preferred to close with his opponents, if they were worthwhile. The Beastmaster had no choice but to come close, but Kazuki had a choice, and he preferred to stand back and cast his threads before him and around him and stay aloof, distant, even as he sliced open their flesh. He did not dirty his hands. 

Afterwards Kakei had offered to patch him up, with the thoughtless, casual chivalry that left Kazuki with a soft, amused smile and Toshiki full of simmering resentment, but instead he had run off as soon as he was able to rise. "Don't worry," Kazuki had told them. "He will return. He cannot bear the thought of a loss." His smile was one of genuine happiness, almost affection. "He has grace. Not as much as you, Toshiki," he had added almost absently, and Toshiki's heart had thumped heavily in his chest. "But I think we would go well together, if we were on the same side." 

That was the first time, but not the last. The Beastmaster was a fast learner. The second time it took far longer to finish. He brought his own second to that fight, a young man with long brown hair and a grin that was only a little removed from mad, and a golden lion that padded beside the man on noiseless paws. Toshiki had watched them warily, but the man made no sudden moves, only leaned on the same wall as they stood beside and made odd, biting remarks. There were crows circling overhead, and after a little bit one of them landed on the young man's shoulder, and he gave it a crust of bread. He did not seem to mind. Toshiki wished he could grab the bird and wring its neck, and he did not quite know why. The lion only yawned, and watched the fight with dark impenetrable eyes. 

The third time, they fought so long Toshiki began to hurt from the swirl of chi he surrounded himself with in readiness, and at long last the Beastmaster fell to his knees, but no further. It was Kazuki who called his threads back, who suggested a temporary truce. 

They were men of honour. They declared a truce, and Sakura had appeared from nowhere and made subtle suggestions, and somehow they came to realize that they had much in common, and both wished only to protect their friends. The truce became a permanent end to hostilities. Toshiki should have been nothing but glad. 

He had still wished the fight had been his. 

\-- 

**12.**

He liked Nagano, and he found work there quickly, putting up the frame of a new office building. On Sundays he walked about the city. It was unsettlingly clean. In Mugenjou there had been dust and dirt and smears of black tar everywhere, and things left abandoned in the streets, decaying cardboard boxes, newspapers from weeks or months ago blown in on some wayward breeze, bulging plastic bags into whose contents only the desperate cared to enquire. The occasional weed, but green and growing things died quickly. 

It might have been like that in bits of Fukuoka, or Kanazama, or Matsuyama, or Kobe. He had only seen a little bit of blowing trash, nothing out of the ordinary. But there had been smoke, and fog, and haze hanging over the air. In Nagano the air was clean. He wondered if he had still been half-asleep until he left the Oki Islands after all, if the haze had been the tears lurking in the corners of his eyes, the static of the dreams he had not allowed himself. 

He took the bus once, on a wild whim, to a park on the outskirts of town. Passing through the downtown shopping district an old man in a kimono got on, and Toshiki yielded his seat automatically before he realized the man was middle-aged at most and unsettlingly familiar. His hair was brown streaked with gray, and the look on his face was one of habitual exhaustion. "Thank you," the not-old man murmured. 

They got off at the same stop, and Toshiki found himself trailing after the man. His motions were slow and careful, although it was obvious to Toshiki at least that he he had once been very strong. A beautiful ruination, he thought. He got the ides that the man was on his way to meet someone. But instead he only bought a can of coffee from a vending machine, and turned with half a smile. "Would you like one, young man?" 

"Why?" 

"You were kind to me on the bus." The man shrugged. "And you have the look of someone who's been hard done by." 

"I'm better now," he muttered, but he didn't argue when the man got a second can, and they sat down together on a bench. Finally Toshiki ventured, "You look a lot like that yourself." 

"My wife, my eldest son, and my only daughter are all dead. My middle son left home and hasn't spoken to me in a year. After a while you get tired of it," the man said evenly. "But you're a bit young for that. A sibling, perhaps? Sweetheart?" 

Toshiki bit his lip and sipped the coffee, watching the birds twitter and peck at the ground. Finally he said, "I havn't lost anyone. I just never had anyone in the first place." 

The man nodded sadly. "And you don't think you ever will?" 

"For a while I did," Toshiki said quietly. "I was a bastard son, disinherited in favour of my brother. I left home and finally joined a gang, and I fell in love with the leader. Of course he already had someone better. When I left ... they didn't even ask me to stay." He sighed. "I know that sounds very petty." 

"Not really." The old man leaned back on the bench, tilting his head to look at the sky. "You're young. I can't blame you for regretting what you've never had. Everyone needs the love of a family." He looked sideways at Toshiki. "My son would be around your age now," he added, quiet and guilty.

They stared at the sky for a while. It was a perfect autumn day, crisp and bright, with the smell of distant rain in the air. 

Eventually the man began to speak again. He told Toshiki about his family, the house in the woods that had been theirs for five hundred years. He did not give his family name, and Toshiki wondered for a moment why, but then, Toshiki had not given his name either. There was a kind of distance in anonymity that allowed startling intimacies elsewhere. The man spoke of his youngest son, all he had left, he said, who worried too much about him. "He said I should go to the city," the man told him. "He said it wasn't good to sit around the house all the time. Perhaps he's right." 

Toshiki told stories about his travels, as he had no home to speak of, save Mugenjou. He did not wish to mention Mugenjou here. 

Eventually the man told him, "You shouldn't give up yet, you know." 

"Why not?" Toshiki shrugged. "I've never had good luck. I've never found somewhere I belonged." 

The old man smiled. "But you're young, and you have ideals, and you're a good man. I can tell that. There are so few people in the world these days who have any strength left, any drive." He stood up, stretching. "There will be a place for you, even if you have to make it yourself." 

Toshiki blinked and clutched his empty coffee can. The man continued implacably, "Look at it this way: You have the advantage of starting entirely anew, looking at the world from outside before you're bound to your path. I had a place from my youth, and it nearly killed me. I tried to uphold tradition, and my son and daughter tried to do the same as they understood it, and the last time I ever spoke to them, it was to call them fools. It's not too late for you." He sighed and turned to go. 

Toshiki started up, dropping the can in his haste. "Wait!" 

"Hmm?" The man turned back. 

Impulsively, Toshiki pulled the stuffed dog out of his pocket and held it out to the man. "Thank you," he said. "For - for the advice. And everything. But you know, it's not too late for you either." He paused. "A little girl gave this to me. She thought I was lost. I think I was, then, but I'm not anymore." 

The man smiled, and took the dog. "I'm not lost," he said softly. "I never was. Imprisoned, maybe, and still am." 

"But you don't have to be alone." 

"No. Thank you." 

Toshiki watched the not-old man, walking slow but upright, until he turned the corner behind a building and was out of sight. Kazuki had never spoken of his past. Neither had Kakei. They were from old families, and there was a shadow hanging over them, but of the immediate past there was never a murmur. 

Toshiki had a long ancestry, on his father's side, but he did not expect to have descendants. Nor did he have any urge to pass on the Murasame techniques. He was a lone warrior; that was as it should be. But he didn't want to be alone forever. 

He would find somewhere he was wanted, for himself alone. He would find a master worthy and desirous of his service, and his heart would not hurt any longer. 

\-- 

**13.**

Sariel is standing in his office, looking as neat and uncomfortable in his uniform as Toshiki feels in his suit. The boy is smiling, though. He is rearranging the vase of flowers on Toshiki's bookshelf. The flowers are roses. They were a gift from one of the office ladies. He does not remember which one. Girls blur together in his mind these days; people blur together, and he has to fight before he recalls that this boy is named Kakeru, but he does not think the boy would be grateful of the reminder. Sariel, until he is asked otherwise. 

"Nice," Sariel says, and frowns at the roses. They are not the sort with any kind of smell. "You have a girlfriend?" 

"No." Toshiki sits down, tensing as the chair molds to accommodate him. He is not accustomed to this much comfort. "What do you want from me, Sariel?" 

Sariel smiles. It's a slightly twisted smile. "A lesson. I want to learn how to erase someone's soul." 

"That's a dangerous move." Toshiki leans back in his chair and blinks against the darkness on the edges of his vision. Outside the sun is already setting. He has a window office; he can look out and watch it set. "Why now? Why not wait and ask Lucifer?" 

Sariel's smile is quite calm. "I want to know now. He's not here. Besides, why not ask you? You know all about the cards. You're always standing around looking bored." 

Toshiki finds his hands running over the objects in the top drawer of his desk. A yellow highlighter pen, a deck of replicas, a small pile of coins, a paper-knife. "I don't belong here," he tells the boy. "Here, this office. I'm just waiting for the day we start building our paradise. But then the same applies to you, doesn't it?" Sariel does not respond in words, only smiles and waits. Toshiki's hand hovers for a moment over the paper-knife before it settles on the deck of replicas, pulls them out and sets them on the desk. Begins to deal. 

Sariel's eyes are dark and empty. He sits down in the other chair, and watches Toshiki's hands. 

"It's easy," one of them says. "Most people don't have any soul to speak of. Any strength of will. But of course, the easy ones aren't worth converting." 

Toshiki shivers, and thinks of Kazuki. His fine dark hair, the emptiness in the back of his eyes. He keeps moving by instinct, and does not look out the corner of his eye at all the lights springing up as darkness overtakes the city. All the people living their lives. Hundreds of lives, thousands of them, and each one wrapped up in its own desires. But then, so are they. He is working for the sake of the promise Lucifer has made him. 

But even as he thinks this, he looks at Sariel and knows it is a lie. The promise was his bait, but Toshiki's whole heart belongs to Lucifer now, as much of it as still exists. He does not need promises. He has found the place where he belongs. 

Sariel smiles slowly, and sets his hand comfortably over Toshiki's. The sunset paints both their skin bloody. "Thank you," he says. "I think I understand now." Toshiki bites his tongue to keep from screaming, and his mouth fills with the salty taste of blood.

\--

**14.**

He could find no work in Sapporo; it seemed as if the building trade had shut down for the winter, and he did not care for the alternatives. He scavenged in dumpsters for a while, then left town. He went to Sunagawa, to Ashibetsu, then Kamifurano, picking up a few yen at odd jobs but never more than a day at a time. He grew weary and resentful of buildings.

At last he took a half-deserted tourist bus to the foot of Mount Tokachi. It was raining, covering the sky in a gray shroud. He shivered in the long leaky coat he had bought with the last of his money, and stood under the trees until the worst of the storm had passed. He realized he was exhausted, but for the first time in several months he did not feel the buildings closing in on him.

It was after several days of bathing in the unimproved hot springs and growing increasingly hungry that it occured to Toshiki that the mountain would not be unreasonably difficult to climb. He consulted the large sign put up for the convenience of hikers, which marked out the four trails and advised strongly against attempting them alone, in inclement weather, or without a fairly large selection of the proper gear. Toshiki ignored the warnings, picked the most winding trail, and set out. His feet, still in heavy workboots, were the only parts of him that were not cold.

By the time he was halfway up the clouds were clearing, and he could look down and see the landscape spread out before him like a map of itself, lush and green, full of life even in the dead of winter.

He thought that it looked very alien.

Once upon a time that had been his world. He could barely remember the last time he had felt like he belonged in it. Before he had left his father's house, surely. He hiked the rest of the way to the summit in sullen silence, and realized that night was falling and he was far too exhausted to go back down in the dark. Instead he sat down against a rock and closed his eyes, wrapping his coat tight around him like a shroud.

The night was dark and quiet, and when a woman he did not recognize sat down next to him he was almost too annoyed at the disturbance to realize he was dreaming. He blinked at her. She had dark skin and wore masses of black lace, and for an absurd moment he expected her to be holding a black rabbit, the inverted shade of the girl he had met in dreams before who had spoken to him so earnestly and futiley. "What do you want?" he asked her, frowning.

"Oh, lots of things. But from you?" She stretched, in a way that would have been fascinating and distracting if Toshiki had been straight. "Right now I just want to pass on some advice."

He narrowed his eyes and waited. She grinned at him and tapped his nose, her bracelets clanging gently. "It's not too late for you. You could still get out clean."

"From what?" He had thought that he had gotten away- from Mugenjou, at least, and he cannot imagine what else he might need to be freed of. Kazuki's ghost, perhaps, but he does not think that is possible.

"You'll find out." The woman half-smiled at him, her eyes shadowed and unreadable. "It won't be long now before you're given a choice. A lot depends on which way you choose. Remember this; you can, if you try. You still have a chance."

Toshiki shivered as a gust of wind found its way under his coat. "Why are you telling me all this? Who are you?"

"Call me an interested bystander. I expect we'll meet in waking life and neither of us will remember properly. Or we might not, if all goes well." She glanced sideways at him, and suddenly her expression was all brightness and a wicked grin. "I hope we do. You've got nice muscles. I bet you're a _good_ . . . dancer."

He allowed himself a small chuckle. "Sorry. Not really."

"Isn't that always the way?" She sighed, and patted his shoulder. "Well, perhaps someday. Good luck."

When he awoke it was a clear and beautiful day. The sun was rising in the east and a few low-lying clouds were painted gorgeous shades of orange and red. His stomach hurt a little and his head was buzzing, but he was used to that by now.

He knew where he had to go.

He gathered his coat around himself and began the journey down.

\--

**15.**

"He could be yours if you wished it." Toshiki shivers and finds himself gathering chi in his fingers, without thought, ready for battle. But there will be no battle here. There is only himself and Lucifer and the tangible absences of the people they long for most.

If he were here Kazuki would be smiling, Toshiki thinks. Smiling and licking his lips. Toshiki is not quite sober, although far from inebriated. On edge. His head is buzzing and he moves a little slower for fear of misjudging his movements and knocking something over. "I . . . I don't know," he whispers, anguished. "It's not that easy, is it?"

"Perhaps not, but nonetheless. Would you not endure much for the sake of your heart's desire?" He would, and he knows what his heart's desire is. He would give up his heart if he could; it only drags him away from the one he is sworn to serve.

The walls are too close around him and the folds in the dark red curtains, shut tight against the cool night air, seem to mock the folds in the deep red coverlet of his bed. He wraps his arms around his shoulders and shivers. "He never even looked at me,"he says. "All that time. I was always second best. Always. Never enough for him. I wanted him to need me."

"I need you," Lucifer says. He says it as simply as he might say his name.

Toshiki tries to look up at the shadows of the room but he cannot make them out. He tugs at his loose necktie and his breath catches in his throat. "I know. Thank you," he says, or tries to, but the words catch in his throat too and emerge as a cough more like a death rattle.

If Kazuki were here he would rest a hand on Toshiki's back and look at him out of his deep dark eyes and laugh, that terrible laugh, and suggest that Toshiki be more careful with his drinks. He is still clutching the goblet. He tells himself that it doesn't matter. He doesn't long for Kazuki's touch. He swallows more wine but the sweetness does not kill the bitter taste in his mouth.

"No," Lucifer tells him. "He doesn't deserve that." His hands are strong and soothing on Toshiki's shoulders and the sudden firm contact is enough to bring him back. "You are your own man. You should not allow him to rule you so, even so late. If you desire him, he can be yours. You shall not be his."

Juubei was, Kazuki does not say, and will not. Would not, for he was far too gentle to rip someone's heart to shreds so casually. Juubei was mine utterly and that was why I chose him.

Toshiki sinks to the bed and presses his face against the pillow and wishes that he could want his freedom, now that he has it. Lucifer presses a cool hand against his forehead and whispers something that Toshiki cannot hear. This is not how it happened, he thinks. He agreed, so eagerly that he hardly remembered. He did not lie here sick with longing while the man he should have knelt before held his hand and tried to call him back.

\--

**16.**

The shadow of the tower above them had been something they had all become accustomed to. Kazuki had looked up at it from time to time, and the expression on his face was one that terrified Toshiki far more than any that had ever graced his face in battle.

"You're not thinking of trying to go up there?" he had finally asked, and Kazuki had smiled at him and said, "Of course I am, but not yet. I'm not strong enough yet."

Toshiki had thought that this was ridiculous, that there could be no one in the world more strong than Kazuki.

That was how Kazuki had always been, impetuous and utterly heedless of fear, and so when he vanished without speaking to them of where he was going Toshiki had not been at all surprised. He had waited, while Kakei stood silent and miserable and terrified, and Sakura found (or made) clean rags and left them in a pile beside the stove while she boiled water endlessly, occasionally pouring some out for tea that would have cooled slowly in its cups had not Saizou, ever loyal, tossed it back like beer as he cracked unanswered jokes, in the brief intervals between his patrols. At first he had been the only one with the heart to go out, but then Kakei, in a sudden ecstasy of purpose, had left as well, striding along the dusty streets and listening for anything at all.

Sakura had known her place in this and kept to it; she had stayed by the stove, waiting. Toshiki had not known his place and so he slept fitfully, curled against the wall, and woke without speaking.

Saizou's face had grown more shadowed with each hour until at last he had joined Toshiki by the wall. Toshiki remembered this later, because it seemed to him in hindsight that the shadow over his friend's face had never quite left after that. At the time he had not thought anything of it. He had been far too sick with worry himself to see.

When Kakei came back, carrying Kazuki - there had been blood still dripping down his arm and puddling on the floor and Toshiki had not known how he did not explode with rage and undirected terror - Sakura had been the only one of them steady enough to speak. Afterwards Toshiki could never remember what she had said, although it had seemed terribly important at the time.

\--

**17.**

Raguel holds out a hand and Toshiki takes it, not without some trepidation. But the angel smiles. "It's going to be fine," he - she? Toshiki knows there is a woman's body underneath the mismatched clothes, but he is not sure of the mind - whispers, and the voice is the edge of hoarse, as if some great emotion were being held in check. "You see? Lucifer _promised_ us. He'll come through."

"Thank you," Toshiki says. Raguel's fingers are cold in his. 

"You don't believe me, do you." The comment is made without malice; merely an observation, and they both know it. As if to prove it the angel continues, "You've seen that the world is a cruel and unfair place, on the whole." His hand is released, and with an unearthly smile Raguel continues, "Will you play a round with me?"

Toshiki smiles back. 

They begin as always with their guardian cards; the ring of sword on sword carries through the empty chapel and echoes in his ears. It is nothing like Kazuki's bells. Raguel has the Aegis, so he cannot make a direct attack; this is not to his liking but he understands: he must work here without his strengths and then when the true battle comes he will have no weaknesses. 

They know each other too well for two who speak so little. Match, match, and then Raguel smiles again and Toshiki realizes he has left an opening, and the knight's blade blocks the fiery spear and then something flickers in the edge of his vision and he moves back, drawing the cloak about him as he goes. Raguel cries out, a word of triumph in a language he does not recognize. He calls back, wordlessly. 

The next move comes from the side and he turns just a little too slow, and he watches the shining sword for an endless second before Raguel pulls back and they drop heavily into the real world again, just two young men kneeling on each side of an altar spread with little rectangular cards that do not look like keys at all. 

"You're improving," Raguel says. "That was luck." 

Raguel would not lie to him. He bows his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. 

The touch on his forehead is quite unexpected, but it is cool and soothing and he realizes Raguel's hands are damp. "You know," the angel says sadly, "I'd do anything I could for you." The voice seems to come from a very long way away. The light through the windows is bright and blue; for a moment a cloud ripples across the sun and they could be underwater. He feels light and clean and when Raguel whispers, "You deserve better," for the first time in years he thinks he could agree. 

\--

**18.**

This is what happened.

He walked into it and was swept up before he knew, but he was never lied to. At that moment he had no regrets. He went willingly. The regrets came later.

Toshiki looked into the other man's dark eyes and could not see the depth of them, and he did not speak of how much fear this engendered in him.

When he joined Lucifer he did not know why he had returned to Tokyo, only that he felt as if he had walked into Hell and that he could only return to the world above if he found its ruler and begged forgiveness and a boon. Lucifer promised better, and so Toshiki took up his watch at the gates, looking out at the world that would be his when the other had ended.

Lucifer saw him sitting alone and walked up to him, striding confidently, as if each slab of pavement were his own property. He said, I have need of you. Will you come with me? Toshiki had followed without a second thought.

He laid his hand beside the other man's cheek and peered into his endless eyes and did not think that he would be able to stand before them any longer, so he said, "Close your eyes." The other man obeyed him. He thought he heard laughter somewhere but he did not look; he did not want to know.

Lucifer taught him how to bend reality to his will. He had been patient, taken his time. Toshiki asked once why he had been chosen. I could see you were strong, but lost, Lucifer said. I thought you would be grateful for a purpose. Was I wrong?

No, Toshiki could only say, of course not. You found me. You saved me.

The other man's hands were cold in his, and his body was limp against the wall. His hair reflected moonlight; he did not open his eyes again. Toshiki did his best not to think how akin he looked to a body laid out for burial, and how cold his lips were when Toshiki kissed him, hungrily, desperate for a response. 

There was none. His face gleamed white the moonlight and his tongue tasted sharp and metallic, like blood. Toshiki pulled back, breathing hard; he could already feel the sweat beading down his neck. "Please," he said very quietly. 

Lucifer promised. He gave Toshiki everything he needed, and he always kept his promises. Toshiki would have loved him for it if he were still capable of such an emotion, but one needed a heart to love and that was the first thing he had given up; he had thought it was shattered, of no further use to him.

Slowly the other man lifted his hand, laid it on Toshiki's neck. He had no more expression on his face than ever. Toshiki pressed him back against the stone wall and closed his eyes against the tears.

\--

**19.**

Saizou did not argue when Toshiki announced that he was leaving. Kazuki's expression had been fierce, Kakei's uncomprehending, Sakura's only sad, but each had spoken, tried to beg him to stay. Saizou had just looked at him and smiled, the same smile as always. He followed him out the door, though, while the other stood silently stricken or furious. Toshiki had spun around. "Don't say you're not going to let - " 

"Oh, I won't stop you." Saizou had laid a hand on his arm. The sun beat down and Toshiki had to squint to see. "I just wanted to say goodbye properly, and wish you luck." 

Toshiki had been forced to close his eyes then; the anger ran out from him like light running out of a room with the flick of a switch. There was no cause to be angry, because there was nothing he could do. Saizou was his friend; had never laid a hand on Kazuki, so there was no cause for resentment between them. Had never been anything been cheerful to him. "Thank you, then." 

"And remind you - " 

Toshiki had opened his eyes. Saizou had always smiled, and Kazuki had always taken it at face value, and Toshiki never had. "You'll be fine, won't you?"

"Remind you," Saizou continued as if he hadn't spoken, "that whatever you do, you'll never run out of chances. Remember that. Every day is a new beginning." 

"Remember that for yourself, too," Toshiki had answered. Saizou had let go of his arm and just looked at him steadily, and Toshiki had turned and fled down the street, and been outside Mugenjou before he had dared to look back. 

\--

**20.**

He can hear a noise like pounding surf or a beating heart somewhere far off, but it is not important. Nothing is now; he has played his part and all that remains should be silence. But still he hears it. There is nothing but darkness around him, and cold. That, he thinks distantly, is right. All is right with the world, and there is nothing more he can do, nothing at all. His arms feel too heavy to lift, and it astonishes him that he can still feel them at all. He thinks he might be crying, and does not know why he would be. The faint taste of salt lingers in his mouth. Far away he thinks he hears someone laughing - not the soft scornful laughter he had heard, or almost heard, from Kazuki, but warm and earnest laughter that is almost familiar, although he cannot place it.

Without warning he can feel lips pressed against his and the warm salt taste of blood, filling up his mouth. After the long loss of sensation the taste is overwhelming and without realizing quite what he is doing he tries to cough it away, but to do that he has to breathe and just drawing breath in hurts more than he had thought possible. He chokes on a scream. Someone who sounds like Kazuki is begging him to wake up. There are voices all around, a riot of voices. Friends, he thinks. 

He shouldn't leave them like this.

He opens his eyes.

\--

**21.**

Once, years later, Yukihiko asked him what it had been like, dying.

"It was very quiet," was all that Toshiki could think to say. "Dark. Like everything was a long way off." 

They were leaning on the balcony railing outside their hotel room, watching the twilight over the ocean. The breeze was blowing inland, and the air smelled of salt water and last night's rain. Somewhere far off a seabird was cawing. Toshiki hadn't felt quite this peaceful in a long time.

"Peaceful," he added, and watched the way the light glinted, absurdly moonlike, off Yukihiko's glasses as the other man bowed his head and tightened his hand on the railing. 

"I would think it would be terrifying. Lonely," Yukihiko said softly. 

It was not strange, Toshiki thought, that Yukihiko would be afraid of loneliness above all else. "No," he answered. "You don't really feel it. Nothing is close enough to hurt. But it feels . . . dry. I don't know how else to describe it. It's like there's an ocean just close enough to hear but too far off to tell what direction, and you're lying in the desert and don't have any water."

Yukihiko was quiet. After a while he whispered, "I'm glad. That you didn't die for good."

The waves washed gently against the beach far below. In a little while, they might go down and walk on the sand, and wade trough the rising tide before it grew light enough to really see; then perhaps they would come back to the room and finally sleep, and dream of things that let them rest. But that would be in a little while. 

Toshiki smiled and let his hand rest beside Yukihiko's, not quite touching it. "So am I."

\---


End file.
